


He's got a mind of his own and it stings

by xagentofchaos



Series: I feel like going home, I feel like going on [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 4x08, Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Murphamy - Freeform, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 06:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xagentofchaos/pseuds/xagentofchaos
Summary: The aftermath of Murphy attacking Bellamy and Emori's lies to the group.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Again, my summaries suck.
> 
> Read the first part to understand the story. Thanks!
> 
> This has barely been proof-read so there could be some misspelling errors or grammar mistakes. If so, tell me and I'll edit right away.
> 
> Enjoy!

Murphy had stomped off to find Emori to tell her all about what just happened, at least parts of it. He wasn’t known for being the kind of guy that spills out all of his guts. Not even to Emori. She knows this so she shouldn’t feel too grumpy about it.

His cheeks were dry and eyes had disgusting crust in them and felt raw from crying. He dodged every look from the others as he walked through the lab and to the main door. Not that he was looking, but as he passed by he couldn’t see a hint of either Princess or Rebel King. Good riddance. 

She was found in the house just like she had promised to him earlier. He walked inside and was immediately embraced in a tight hug from the shorter girl. He stumbled a little on his feet from the way her body bumped harshly into his, before he brought his arms around her back and hugged back. He had never been the one for physical contact unless it was his fists against someone’s face. Landing on the ground and getting away from the isolating box up in space where no one taught him to appreciate kindness through touches, hadn’t helped him either. Not until Emori happened, again. He really needed to repay her at some point. 

She dragged him further inside the house and forced him to sit down at the table. He was handed a bowl of something inside that he couldn’t detect what it was. But he ate it anyway since he was starving. Emori sat down on the same spot she sat when Princess and Rebel King joined the fun. His stomach churned but kept eating to distract himself from throwing up. 

“The guy they’re sacrificing for the greater good is a nobody. He’s just a regular thief, I don’t know him.” 

He glanced up at her from across the short end of the table while biting down in what he thinks is a rabbit. She had some dirt underneath her nails and her jacket had remnants of soil, probably from stumbling around on the ground while hunting after leaving Murphy alone with Abby. 

“Why?” he had to ask, remembering Princess’ words about how the unknown man had hurt Emori and followed them around. That story hadn’t made any sense to him, since he knew for sure that no one had ever followed them. So what he really didn’t understand is why Emori would go at such lengths to get a victim. 

“Think about it, they needed someone for their experiment and before now they didn’t have a body. I swear on my mutated hand that they would’ve picked me or you to go through with it if I hadn’t improvised.” She grabs Murphy’s free hand over the table and squeezes it hard. “Especially now that you freaked out on that soldier. What were you thinking?” 

“Well, did it work? Did the nobody survive the radiation?” Murphy asked, ignoring her question. She shrugs her shoulders, and he can see through the glimmer in her eyes that she won’t let him get away. He takes a deep breath in preparation. Physical contact was the easiest thing to get used to, but talking about _feelings_ through a state when he’s not emotionally and physically drained, he’s not ever going to find ease in. 

“They were going to do it after Abby was done talking with you, so I wouldn’t know. Don’t dodge my question, John. Talk to me.” 

He retreats his hand and hides them underneath the table, scratching his fingernails over the scabs. He can feel the wounds open up again and the blood spill down to the ground but he doesn’t bother with worrying about it. Touching his knuckles he decides that they’re not broken as he had previously thought, but they hurt so damn much. He’s not bothered with that either. A little pain had always done him good anyway. 

Dipping his head further to the table, he gives her a glance that says ‘please spare me’ but her expression is set cold. He sighs.

“He conspired against my survival back in the days”, he muttered. 

“Meaning?” 

“ _Meaning_ that he was the one that kicked the crate.” He heard her take a sharp breath and then fall back into thick silence. His eyes are fixed on the ebony table, unable to lift his head because his neck felt paralyzed. There is a thunder in his eardrums and the muffled noise is like a screeching alarm in his skull. He never wanted this. Never wanted to open up his heart and pour out the blood and muscle fibers to any person in this wretched world. His mind compelled and forced him to earlier, to Abby in that anxiety stained room where he colored spots on the wall red with his own blood. Truthfully he never wanted to. 

Feelings didn’t come easy to Murphy, he didn’t _fall_ for people in a sense he’s heard stories about as a kid. The magical butterflies in the stomach are something he’s never felt. But he had felt something for Bellamy. 

His right hand is thumping of pain. He can take it. It’s the pain inside that’s always been unbearable. But shutting off emotions is easy; he learned that the hard way. 

“Well, you surely gave him a less pretty face for a while”, she murmured and he grinned slyly at her. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it when she scanned his face from her side of the table. Before she stood up from her chair, she leaned over the table and grabbed his face gently between her thumb and index finger. “Take a shower. You reek of sweat, blood and anxiety.” He huffed amusedly at her scrunched nose and pushed the chair back and stood up. She followed along to give him a – what he assumed – sibling-like punch on his arm. She had always been brutal and physical, manhandled him around as while being gentle and sweet. He was impressed how well she adjusted being equally bossy and equally calm. He wasn’t close to master it. 

He brought his finished bowl to the sink and walked off to the shower. 

The water felt good against his skin but stung against his raw knuckles. Dipping his head down to let the water jets rinse his hair and down his milky white body. He shut it off after some minutes, not feeling entirely safe in this zone yet so he preferred quickies. Stepping out and brining a towel over his head to rinse off, he took a peak in the mirror on his ghostly face. Grimacing at the reflection that looked back, he could still see the remains of a rough night if he looked closely. As of now his cheeks were tainted flushed pink from the hot shower as well as his chest, but the dark rings underneath is eyes were still popping through. And his knuckles had a shade of bright red; cleaner, but still meaty looking. 

He looked away from the reflection and tied the towel around his hips and stepped out of the bathroom. Emori had put some spare clothes on the big bed that he put on; a grey sweatshirt that was one size too big and darker pants that sat tight on his legs but not like an extra layer of skin. He bent over slightly and squeezed the water out of his hair, knuckles protesting but he continued to do so until it was dry enough. 

The process was slow, it was almost like he was unused to the state where his body was; the aftermath of a turbulence. He had been here before many times, but never with this mindset. He was angry and disappointed at himself for opening up as quickly as he did, especially to Abby Griffin of all people. If anything, he’d thought it would be Emori but now Princess’ mom knew things about him he never wanted to admit to himself. He felt more lost than ever. 

Emori was lying on the couch when he walked into the big room again. Music sounded from the subwoofer and he could hear her hum along to the tune. He scooted her legs to the side and sat down. She immediately placed her legs on his lap and they sat in silence, drinking the soft music around them. 

He felt exhausted. It’s been a while since he was able to sleep deep for at least some hours. Last night’s events didn’t exactly help him with his deprivation. He managed a deep sigh and leaned his elbows on Emori’s legs and hid his face in his hands. Inwards he felt hopeless, pointless and lost to a place he never thought he’d enter. 

Emori sat up and rubbed small circles on his nape.

“I really wish you could tell me”, she whispered soothingly and butted her forehead gently against his cheek. 

She deserved to know, he thought. After everything she had helped him with and saved him from, whether it was from others or himself. After all the days of comfort and tending to the wounds that was self-caused or made by other hands and weapons. After all the survivalist training, the hours of sword fighting in forests, and playfully boxing each other’s arms and learning how to block attacks. 

After she taught him how to smile again. 

But he couldn’t. The fever in his organs hadn’t eased down, and he felt so confused. After all this time he felt like he was back on square one and that meant he was unsafe. 

“Me too”, he said, truthfully. He really wished he could tell her about the thumping in his head, the vibration in his core. The way he somehow craved pain to be caused upon him to easier dodge the screams in his head, the pictures, and the sensation of being choked all over again whenever he saw Rebel King. 

He wished he could tell her about the want to rip the man’s body to shreds, to bleed him out. 

He also wished he could tell her about the irrationalized beating of his heart. The heat underneath his skin. Maybe she would be able to make sense of it. 

But he couldn’t. He was on edge and kept sliding towards the end of the knife, down into a dark pit where he had spent lots of time in his life. 

He backed his head up from his hands and gave Emori an attempt of a reassuring smile but he couldn’t pretend well enough. The worry in her eyes became too much so he snaked away from the couch and towards the front door to get some air. She didn’t follow him out, but he knew he was being looked after through the big windows. 

He stayed in near sight, just stepping outside a few feet away from the house. Hugging his body, he stared out in the dark, back turned against the corner of the house. Getting fresh, cold air in his lungs made him feel better and it got easier to process the rumbling thoughts in his brain. He was screwed. It was just that easy. Not that anyone of the Delinquents had gained their trust on him, but even if they had it would be dead and gone by now. He had punched the living hell out of their best soldier and leader. Bellamy had been a fan favorite in some accounts ever since the start; there was no way Murphy would be walking out of this on both his legs.

He was just about to turn back to the house when a hand clasped his shoulder and he spun around with his heart in his throat and a surprised yelp. In front of him stood Clarke with her eyes widened and hands thrown up in the air. He let out a shaky breath and swallowed.

“Fucking hell, Princess, warn a guy”, he muttered and glared at her. She apologized and smiled a little at his theatrics, but just like the smiles hadn’t brought a believable show to Murphy’s face, Clarke’s didn’t either. He knitted his brows at that but didn’t say anything, it’s not like he expected her to be very friendly to him anyway. Not after what he did to Bellamy. It couldn’t be a grand secret that the two of them were close. “What are you doing here anyway?” 

“The treatment worked. Mom wants you both at the lab, so you can participate in the discussion of what we should do next.” 

He couldn’t contain his surprise but didn’t say anything to beg the differ; he jogged into the house to tell Emori the good news. They both agreed to go with Clarke back to the lab, none of them mentioning anything of the lies Emori had cooked up for their safety. If it worked, it wouldn’t matter anyway. 

The two of them walked behind Clarke whose back looked tense and she took cautious steps over the roots. Murphy glanced down at Emori who seemed to notice as well, but none of them asked Princess about it. It could just be from the lab experiment, the not knowing if it would work or not. 

As soon as they entered the lab and walked down the stairs to the others, Murphy knew that something was up. He immediately tensed up from the distant and avoiding looks on their faces. He walked slowly up to them, still following Clarke who refused to look at him now. He opened his mouth to say something witty and annoying to break the tension, but he faltered when he saw the body of the man who Emori and Clarke had brought. It was lying lifeless on the table with big burned spots speckled all over the skin. Puss and blood covered them, and on some places it was so badly burned that he could see the bones. 

“I thought you said- what—“ he turned around just in time to see Miller stick a needle of sedatives in Emori’s neck and he watched her fall to the ground. “What the hell are you doing?” he breathed out, head spinning when he realized. “Miller, don’t—“ he tried to get close and rob Emori’s body away from Miller’s grip, but his hand was gripped by Jackson who forced him away. “Let go! What are you doing?!” Panic rose in his throat and a knot twisted around his lungs, making it impossible for him to breathe. 

“Honey, please understand”, Abby said to him and tried to contain a professional softness in her face, but her lips quivered and tears brimmed her eyes. Murphy was forced down on the ground and was tied to a pipe. His body shook of panic, watching his friend being put on the table where the now dead man had lied on. “She lied to us, he wasn’t Baylis.” 

“I fucking know!” he roared and tried to get loose of the ties. It dug into his skin, chafing so deep it bled down his wrist, but he kept struggling to get free. “It doesn’t matter if she lied, you have no right to do this!” 

“We’re doing this for all of us”, Abby said and turned her head away so that he couldn’t see her face.

“That’s pure bullshit”, he spat from his corner. “Emori predicted this, it’s us against you. You’re killing her!”

“Emori was prepared to kill an innocent man to save herself, we’re doing science a favor”, Abby continued to talk to Murphy with her soft voice but with a stern edge. Murphy couldn’t believe his ears. This was not the woman that had comforted him this morning, this was a monster. 

“Because she knew you would pick her if no-one else was around”, Murphy hissed between his teeth, trying to contain his own monster that was ready to tear the woman and everyone else apart. But as long as he’s stuck, his monster wouldn’t do any good. “She’s done nothing wrong!” His pleads didn’t reach the woman by Emori’s unconscious body so he turned to the next best thing. Her daughter, who was still dodging his eyes. “Clarke. Please. You don’t have to do this.” 

She looked up at him with a struggling expression, eyes brimmed with sadness and lips set in a tight line. 

“I’m sorry Murphy.”

“You’re sorry… you’re—no, just admit it. Just admit that this was your plan all along. To tear me down, to kill the only person that’s ever made me truly happy. Clarke, I _love_ her, please, don’t pick her.” He was feeling helpless. His only source of genuine happiness and safety was going to be ripped from his life, by the hands of those that have ripped him to shreds before. 

“That’s not true, Murphy. She lied and—“

“Just admit it!” he screamed. “I’ve lied! You’ve lied! Everyone in this room has lied. Everyone in this room have blood on their hands!” He saw red when watching Princess struggle with her words. She had no right to look so distressed, to try and prove how good and pure her point was. She was going to kill the one person in Murphy’s life who’s actually mattered. 

“She’s not going to die!” Clarke spoke up with a high tone. She looked frustrated. 

“Then pick someone else!” Murphy spat back and growled when she hesitated at that. “You fucking hypocrite. Why her? If this won’t kill her, then pick Miller. Or Raven. Or, hell, pick yourself! Why won’t you do it, Princess? Why does my friend have to die for the greater good? Why not you?” 

“I—“ she bit her under lip and shied away for a moment, picking herself up from the pieces Murphy’s eyes had broken her in. Then she turned to him again with a cold expression on her face. “Because I’m the leader. I won’t discuss this with you.” She walked away from him and left him to scream profanities and other nasty things her way. 

 

He was having a panic attack. They were strapping Emori down to the table and he couldn’t breathe. She was still unconscious and would continue to be that way during the torture. His eyes were fixed on the dead body that still lied on the table next to Luna whose blood was extracted into a syringe. That’s how Emori would look soon. Burned. Dead. Murphy struggled for air, his lungs were heaving fast and his head was spinning round and round. It felt like he was sitting on the office chair again, watching the lab morph into surreal stripes. He felt like throwing up. 

Occasionally he caught a glimpse of them, and he cursed them. Damned them. Wished hard for an eternity of pain coming their way. He couldn’t scream – his throat was still sore from the night before and he had no air to scream with – but he could think. And he thought hard. They didn’t deserve anything good for taking everything good in his life from him. His body still shook, spasms going through his core. Wrists bleeding – and the inside of his mouth – heart beating impossibly fast. 

There were no tears rolling down his cheek but his vision was blurry. His whole body hurt from tensing so much, stress and anxiety overwhelming his nerves. Silent whines escaped his lips, his final pleads staining the atmosphere, he begged them _please don’t kill her_ but no one listened. 

Except for one.

Out of the hallway that leads to the office where Murphy had beaten up Bellamy did the man come. His face looked worse than Murphy’s knuckles combined, and he wore many expressions on it. Murphy’s gaze would hit the floor as soon as he saw Rebel King, thinking the man would come for his revenge on him, but the man had other plans. Just as Abby placed the syringe of night blood against Emori’s vein – just on her way to push it inside – did Bellamy stop her. Murphy watched it all happen as they spoke with each other with no words, the man shaking his head determinedly at Abby and raising his hand to Clarke who so desperately wanted to interfere with whatever Bellamy was up to. He frowned at the sight of Rebel King taking the syringe from Abby’s hand and had no time to look away before his eyes met the man’s. He blinked, but couldn’t look away. Neither did Bellamy. The man looked at him with blankness, but still something that resembled some life. 

Murphy was confused. 

He felt… something. 

“Maybe, for once, we shouldn’t be in charge for another person’s life”, Bellamy said, looking away from Murphy and at Clarke instead. Princess said nothing but her body spoke many different languages at once. She looked terrified, upset and a hinge of annoyance underneath her pale skin. Bellamy took a sharp breath that looked painful; Murphy was to blame for that. He didn’t feel at all guilty. “I volunteer”, the man said and instantly pushed the needle into his arm before anyone had time to protest. Bellamy injected himself with the night blood in front of Clarke who gaped in horror at the realization of Bellamy’s action. Then, the man unstrapped Emori from the surgeon table and walked off towards Murphy.

He shrunk into himself as the man came closer, still thinking he had revenge plans in his head. But the man brought out a pocket knife and cut Murphy free from the ties, not sparing him a single glance in the process. Then he walked away and into the hallway again. 

Murphy quickly scrambled to his feet again and took some shaky steps towards Emori’s unconscious form, pushing Clarke out of his way to reach out to his friend. She looked calm and peaceful unstrapped and with the death sentence off her head. He brought a hand to her head and patted her hair soothingly, swallowing down the lump in his throat. _You’re okay now_ , he thought to himself and breathed out in relief. He then turned his heel and followed Bellamy into the office. 

The man sat where Murphy had been sitting, not looking up when the boy entered the room. They were both silent, letting the atmosphere around them eat away every word that tried to slip out of their mouths. There was a wooden chair by his right that he sat down on, shaking slightly when he put his arms on his lap, leaning forwards on his elbows. He didn’t know what to think or say. So he tilted his face up so he could just look at the man instead. Bellamy was still not looking up but Murphy knew he could feel being watched. He scanned the man’s face on the wounds he had created. They looked raw like his knuckles, his nose and cheeks were swollen. He would get dark and nasty looking bruises soon that would freckle his skin like an art project. 

He still felt no guilt by hurting Bellamy. He didn’t regret going off on him like a rabid animal because that action was probably what saved Emori. He didn’t feel any guilt because Bellamy felt enough of that for both of them. 

“Why?” He was surprised over how thick his voice sounded, but his question came out clear enough for Bellamy to stir slightly from a noise sounding in the silent room. The man frowned and his hazel eyes were fixated on an unknown spot by the door. He looked just as exhausted as Murphy felt. 

“You’re the first person I’ve talked to since yesterday”, the man murmurs and brings a hand to his face to rub it, but stops as soon as his palm meets skin with a pained grimace. “You really got me good.” 

Murphy sighs in frustration when he realizes that Bellamy won’t answer his question any time soon. “You didn’t even fight back.” 

“Yeah well. It’s not like I didn’t deserve it”, he snorts, still directing his eyes elsewhere. “I thought you were dead”, he continued and shifted in his seat. “When you were out looking for the City of Light with Jaha. Or maybe I wished you were.” The man looked affronted by his own words but didn’t seem to want them back into his twisted mindset.

“Wouldn’t be the first time”, Murphy muttered. Bellamy shook his head slowly, in thought.

“It would’ve been easier if you were”, Bellamy said and stood up from his seat. He walked slowly through the room and towards the room and stopped when he was in front of Murphy. Glancing to the side and down at the boy, their eyes met and Murphy was taken aback over how torn the man looked. “You didn’t deserve my wishes. You didn’t deserve anything I did to you. I’m so sorry.” Then he disappeared through the door, leaving Murphy in the room feeling complex and even more confused than before. 

He felt a different kind of sensation in his core now. Something that shook his bones apart and caused a turbulence of every kind of emotion there is. Heightened to a max. 

He heard Clarke verbally fight with Bellamy in the lab when he stood up, his turbulence controlling every move. This was not right; this was not how things were supposed to turn out. The unknown man was supposed to survive the radiation and they would all live happily ever after. Murphy would bolt with Emori after they had gotten injected with night blood and he would continue to despise Rebel King and dream dreams about all the different ways to slaughter the man. 

He was not supposed to be feeling like this.

Storming into the lab again with a sneer, blood rushing to his head like he was getting hung again and fighting for his life. His body wanted to fight again, to clash his pained knuckles into everyone’s faces. His throat wanted to scream so harshly he wouldn’t be able to speak a single sarcastic and annoying word for weeks. His legs wanted to kick into their ribs so that they’d break, and continue to do so until they were coughing blood and rib splinters for days. 

But his brain that was occupied by the dark cloud of turbulence thought differently and he found himself grabbing a chair and crushing it against the glass of the radiation chamber. He continued to do so until there was a hole in it and impossible to fix. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Bellamy roared and sprinted towards Murphy, eyes widened in horror by the sight of the broken experiment chamber. 

Murphy breathed hard and met the man halfway and pushed him backwards into a table. “You said it yourself”, he said and got close, his chest brushing against the man’s. “You shouldn’t be in charge over another person’s life and in this context it means yourself as well.” His body felt hot and he knew his cheeks were flushed red from the little workout he and the chair had. “Looks like I’m the Rebel King now”, he whispered sternly and backed away from all of them. All their eyes burned hot into his back but Bellamy’s burned the hottest


End file.
